Breaking The Habit
by lovedrreid
Summary: Reid has two addictions, which aren't bad compared to his habit. He battles his inner dark side to determine whether or not to break the habit. Songfic. fixed the probs! Warning: Self harm, substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, all that good angsty stuff


Breaking The Habit

A/N: I really love this song, and the lyrics tell an exact story to one of our great characters. I don't really know how it's going to turn out, or even what's going to happen, I just have the plot in my head... oh and this story will be much better if you listen to the song while reading it, or before. And I'm reposting this because OpenOffice did something to screw up the lyrics. Thx for pointing it out: greenmindedblueblood

_Memories consume_

_Like opening the wound_

_I'm picking me apart again_

_You all assume_

_I'm safe here in my room_

_Unless I try to start again_

Spencer Reid, young genius, formally worked as a Federal Agent, sat on his bed, tapping his fingers apprehensively on his legs, his knee bobbing up and down. He was constantly shifting positions, trying to find a relatively decent position to sit in. He hadn't any luck. He knew what was going to happen that day, and he so dreaded the thought of having to admit it. He was an addict, not just your drug or alcohol addict, though he was that, but he was also an addict, or withheld the habit, of self injury.

Later that day, he'd have to have a 'family' meeting. After he was committed to a rehabilitation facility, his formal team stayed by his side every step of the path to his recovery. During said family meeting, he'd have to literally say he was an addict, and on specific things and reasons, almost as if he was spilling the beans about his whole life, which he certainly didn't want to do.

Though they hadn't the idea of him falling down again. He'd done so well, with a record of six months of not using and not 'using' a razor, or any sharp object, in that matter. He slipped, in all ways possible for him. He first slipped on his alcohol addiction, then wanted to forget that he'd slipped, then hurt himself as punishment, then, the consequences for that was more therapy sessions. He'd once admitted something scary.

_I don't want to be the one_

_The battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

"I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know why I started, I don't know anything." He'd said to his therapist. But that was long ago, about three months ago, he knew it wasn't long in reality, but inside, to the core, the deepest, darkest place ever imagined, it was an eternity of suffering thorough withdrawal symptoms, cravings, urges, setbacks, and many other indescribable things he didn't want to think about.

His therapist worried especially about Spencer. He'd seemed different. The rest, typical problems, needing to escape, forget, hide, feel nothing. But Spencer never really opened up enough to tell what it was. He was mostly concerned about the self injury, it was his roughest area, even however strong he was. Spencer closed himself off, and hardly got anywhere in his recovery the two years he'd been there, and he was doubting Spencer's strength to overcome just one of his problems.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I know it's not alright_

_So I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit tonight_

He'd been talking with his therapist, and the other counselors in a group session. He'd been asked questions, and when he finally snapped, he answered all questions with one statement.

"I don't know what I'm fighting for. I obviously can't stop myself and have a mental disorder just waiting to happen. I can't break my habits and addictions. I don't know when I will, but when I do, it'll be caused by one solution." Reid said angrily.

The five therapists looked at each other, knowing what his words meant. They allowed him to go back to his room. Still they worried, but they couldn't be breathing down his neck all his recovery.

_Clutching my cure_

_I tightly lock the door_

_I try to catch my breath again_

_I hurt much more_

_Than anytime before_

_I had no options left again_

Spencer locked his door after slamming it. Just for in faulted cases, he locked the door. He sighed heavily, not believing his thoughts. He needed to feel pain, but he wanted to feel nothing, he wanted everything. Not in a stingy way, like wanting to be rich, but he wanted all of his emotions to be shown in one.

He once again sighed, noticing his breathing speeding up. He was hyperventilating again. Panic attack. He feels pain of failure and asked himself why. Why was his life so miserable he'd started two addictions and one habit? Why did he like to feel pain, why did he like getting sick? The questions frustrated him. He took his vial from his stash and filled the need twice the dosage he usually took. He mercilessly struck his skin with the needle, almost violently. As he depressed the plunger, he immediately felt it. The rush of it all hit him. He moved, and every time he touched something, his body would spark, starting at the contact and traveling through his body. Suddenly, he didn't feel the high anymore. He felt NOTHING whatsoever.

He grabbed his bottle of whiskey and swigged it, knowing it was unwise to do so while drugs were in his body, but at the point, he didn't care. He grabbed his razor and cut deep, deeper than had before. The blood dripped down his arm like tears. Luckily, the whiskey didn't have any reaction to the drugs in his system.

_I don't want to be the one_

_The battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

He thought. He thought long and hard. He suddenly realized the battles inside him always made his decisions, and he was at a loss. There wasn't any curing himself. He didn't have control, no matter how much therapy, talking, support, it all depended on the inside. The inside, he was already dead, but outside, people saw somewhat of hope, which was just an illusion...

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I'll never be alright_

_So, I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit _

_Tonight_

He again thought about why he was attempting to fight. He pulled the letter from Gideon out. He reread it over ten times, and by that time, his emotions escaped him. He sobbed in a corner. He thought how much he looked emo right now. In a corner, legs close up to his thin frame, reading a note, crying. He didn't care, so what if he was? The note basically said he was starting to give up, but wouldn't ever let all of that hope to leave, but it still hurt. More people giving up. His tears turned to anger. He realized nothing could change, he wasn't sure he wanted things to either.

_I'll paint it on the walls_

_'Cause I'm the one at fault_

_I'll never fight again_

_And this is how it ends_

He again needed pain, that's all he wanted, or needed, at the moment, not his alcohol, not his drugs, just the concentrated pain. He grabbed his razor off the desk and cut deep cuts into already scarred tissue. He watched the bright color flow down his skin. He stood and felt anger of betrayal through his body. He wrote things on the wall with his blood... things that would get someone locked up in a mental institution. He didn't care, he wasn't going anyways... he wasn't leaving this room either. There was a knock on the door, and Reid opened it angrily. His therapist looked shocked, but quickly called for some nurses and orderlies to help. The nurses stopped the blood flow and left for Spencer and his therapist to talk. He refused to do so. He was about to commit suicide, and they'd ruined it. How dare they?

His therapist talked. He said he'd be staying longer and be under supervision a lot more, and more therapy, of course. Who wouldn't have seen that coming? Soon, it was time for the family session, and Reid wasn't terrified. He was emotionless, the worse state anyone could be in. Reid didn't care anymore though, he'd even started planning his suicide again while ignoring his therapist.

The session went as planned. Reid knew they were going to talk about his suicide attempt. Everyone teared up, especially Garcia, except for Reid. That made them all cry more. He was like a zombie now. Reid made eye contact, spoke the truth, and only spoke when needed.

It was like Reid wasn't even part of the session. It was more like parents on a trip to the principal's office to discuss the behavior of the student.

"Spencer will now be placed under 24/7 supervision..." Reid knew what that meant. He knew people he talked to during his free time who've been placed under it, too. They weren't allowed to go to bathrooms alone, not anywhere there wasn't a staff member. And their room would be with an orderly watching over them through the whole night. Reid stood.

"No way in hell that is happening. I'm not going to have people breathing down my back. I swear to fucking God, just leave me alone! Everybody get out of my worthless life forever." They all looked at him with sad eyes. The therapist turned his attention toward Gideon.

"You have power of attorney. What would be the best idea?" Gideon looked at the furious Reid. He knew it was for the best.

"I agree with you. Spencer doesn't need to be left alone at any time, but I would like to talk to him, out of this setting." Reid's therapist nodded. "Spencer..." Gideon turned his attention back to him. "I'm going to take you to lunch, where do you want to go?"

"To hell." Gideon shook his head and sighed. He knew Spencer wouldn't be an easy fix.

"Come on, Dr. Reid." Gideon said playfully. "Let's go get some coffee, or sugar." Reid stood angrily and followed Gideon out. In the car, Gideon tried to make small talk, but like he expected, Spencer refused to discuss anything. "Okay, if you're going to be stubborn, then go ahead, but that doesn't mean we'll ever give up on you."

"I'm just thinking." Reid said in his old tone before any of this happened. "I'm thinking, I don't know... really KNOW why I do this. I want to get better, I really do, but I take antidepressants, I have great support, but it's still not enough... I-I like to see blood, not in a murderous way, but..." Reid trailed off into silence.

"You're sick, you need help, and we're here for you." Gideon said sincerely, hoping Spencer wouldn't take his words in a wrong way. Reid just nodded.

"I know, and I've been trying, I've been fighting, and... and I'm breaking the habit tonight." Gideon smiled.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_But now I have some clarity_

_to show you what I mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I'll never be alright_

_So, I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit _

_I'm breaking the habit _

_Tonight _

A/N: Okay, that was shorter than I thought it would be, but I liked the way it turned out. I just couldn't kill my Spencey! Anyway, did you like it? Hello, can't read minds, Spencer can though, review so I know what you're thinking! Song: Breaking The Habit by: Linkin Park. Again, sorry I reposted this. But it was nearly impossible to read. I don't know why OpenOffice was doing that, and I apologize.


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